


Ar Lasa Mala Revas

by KittyNomsDePlume (Extra_Pickles)



Series: Fallen To Dust [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extra_Pickles/pseuds/KittyNomsDePlume
Summary: Solas finds Inquisitor Lavellan in the library, late at night. As always, he is torn between spilling all his secrets, or just taking her in his arms to make love to her.Written for the14daysofDAloversprompt - Candle Light.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Fallen To Dust [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144340
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Ar Lasa Mala Revas

Solas climbs the steps to the great hall, shaking the water from his brushes. It is very quiet this late at night, with nary a soul in sight. If not for the distant sound of Inquisition sentries patrolling the battlements, he could almost imagine himself at home. Roaming the grounds of his ancient fortress, which once occupied this very mountain.

 _Almost_. There is a barren-ness to it; a yawning void. It is not the foreign architecture, or the lack of _his_ people, but the absence of the Fade that truly marks it as no longer being his domain. In his travels over the past two years, he has encountered a thinning of the Veil in many different locations. In these places he always lingers, for they provide comfort to him. Granting a muted sense of what he has lost; allowing him to briefly feel whole again. There is of course one place he feels this effect most acutely, but he quickly turns his thoughts elsewhere. It is too dangerous - the endless temptation to seek her out, especially at this late hour. When the world feels so vastly empty, and he so alone within it.

He returns to the Rotunda, clean brushes rattling into a pot by the wall, beneath his current work-in-progress. He picks up a rag, drying his wet hands and scraping some residual paint off his skin with his thumbnail. Hanging the rag over the scaffold to dry, he turns toward his desk, buried beneath tomes and artefacts.

Solas tidies the scrolls and scraps of parchment that litter his work space. He uses some of his neatly penned notes as bookmarks, slipping them into the corresponding books and moving them to one side for further research. The books he has finished with, are mostly stacked on the floor and he double checks the volumes as he picks them up, creating a neat pile on the table. He slides the heavy load off and into his arms, carrying them up the stairs to the library.

It would be a dangerous endeavour for any other occupant of Skyhold; stumbling blindly on a stairwell in the dark, laden down with heavy books. It is a simple matter for Solas to see in the dark, however. A momentary application of magic, requiring almost no thought it is so second-nature to him. The tall stack of books pose little problem either, Solas being far stronger than the average mortal; though he was yet to test the measure of it against a Qunari.

As he nears the landing, soft candlelight casts dancing shadows across the walls of the keep. Solas slows, wondering if Helisma is perhaps still diligently at work. The tranquil researcher unsettles him deeply. He does not dislike her as a person, but what was done to her repulses and infuriates him. Solas frowns at his own mental slip. Had his perspective shifted so greatly, that he could now accept even a tranquil mage was a _person?_ Rather perhaps, that she had been and was no longer; but through no fault of her own. He sighs, pushing such troublesome thoughts from his mind. He was determined to remain true to his course.

Stepping up into the library, he glances across the atrium to find the Inquisitor. She sits at the far desk, surrounded by books and deeply engrossed in the tome that sits open in front of her. Solas hesitates, he could probably slink back down the stairs without her noticing. That would be the sensible thing to do. He sets his stack of books on the near table, for the librarians to sort in the morning and quietly approaches Lani. His rational protests are no match for the ineffable allure of her.

As he is pulled closer into her orbit, he feels the Fade; like a cool caress against his skin - vibrant and invigorating. Solas had determined quite early, that the Inquisitor seemed wholly unaware of this aura that surrounded herself. Other mages undoubtedly found themselves feeling empowered in her presence; though perhaps also without understanding why. For Solas, since returning to this broken world, being near her was the closest he had felt to coming home.

Lani cocks her head at the sound of his approach, though her eyes dwell on the page.

“Vhenan,” he murmurs gently, and he has her full attention then. The unrestrained joy that lights up her face, both warms his heart and seizes it with guilt. Lani springs to her feet, arms snaking around his neck and pulling him down to lay a welcoming kiss against his mouth. Solas curves over her, hands falling to her hips, to pull them flush against his. Lani stumbles back, unbalanced and overwhelmed, but his kisses are relentless. He presses forward until she is trapped - breathless and quaking - between him and the desk. Even then he gives no quarter; no reprieve from his grasping hands and hungry mouth. This is how it always is between them - hitting her hard and fast, with a passion so intense she cannot keep up, but merely submit.

Solas pulls back; as quick to draw away, as he was to embrace her. Lani is flushed and breathless, still reeling from his kisses. The outward calm that Solas expresses is a facade, hiding his own inner turmoil. He cannot allow himself to take things further, not when so many secrets lay between them. In a way he is tormenting himself; pushing dangerously close toward that threshold every time he holds her, only to pull back just as he thinks he might dive over the precipice.

He glances down at the stack of books on the desk and a small tremor of alarm passes through him. A quick survey reveals that many of them are history books and several deal specifically with Elven lore. Many more lay open, scattered across the desk, and she appears to be cross-referencing and comparing their contents.

“Some light reading?” He asks coolly, arching a brow at her, as he plucks the top book from the stack. Lani eases back into her chair with a defeated sigh.

“It has become increasingly clear to me,” her brow furrows as she speaks, “that there are vast disparities, between Dalish lore and the discoveries we have made about ancient Elves in our journeys.” Solas glances at her, biting back any number of cutting remarks, but unable to hide his smug satisfaction at her confession.

“Yes, yes,” Lani drawls, shaking her head at his expression. “You’re soooo clever, _Hahren_.”

“Do not mistake me, _Da’len,_ ” he teases in return. "It pleases me that you can admit your short-comings; few are able to do so. That you strive to improve your understanding of the world and fill the gaps in your knowledge is admirable.” Affectionately, he reaches over to caress her hair. “But you turn to the Tevinter version?” he asks skeptically, wrinkling his nose at the book in his hand.

“These were Dorian’s suggestion,” she explains, gently retrieving the offending book from his grasp and placing it back on the pile. “And examined through an _appropriate_ lens…” she smiles wryly, “they have been interesting. To see where accounts vary, but are also corroborated.”

“Any interesting conclusions?” He probes carefully, wondering what points of Elven history have specifically piqued her interest and what secrets she may have uncovered.

“Nothing concrete,” Lani sighs. "I could make speculations…” she shrugs. “But nothing that convinces me the Dalish are _completely_ wrong,” her eyes slide toward him, sparkling with mischievous expectation and Solas ignores the bait. An open crate sits near her chair, full of ancient, ragged looking books.

“These are?” he nudges the crate with his toes and Lani looks down, her mouth twisting sourly.

“I petitioned the Imperial Library in Minrathous, for a curation of works on the history of Elves,” Lani bares her teeth in an angry snarl as she speaks and Solas takes a second glance at the innocuous seeming contents of the crate. The Inquisitor was generally slow to anger, remaining calm and measured; even in situations that would cause Solas to lose his temper. It was one of the things that drew him toward her, in the beginning.

He had found so many of these mortals to be antagonistic and dismissive, especially when he posed ideas that were contrary to their iron-clad beliefs. With Lani however, he could have robust, respectful discussions - even if they strongly disagreed. That sort of animated debate was one of the things he greatly missed about Elvhenan, and he had not thought he would find it again in this world. So in the rare instances he had seen Lani driven to anger, it was fearsome and merciless.

Leaning down, Solas rummages through the collection, some of them near crumbling apart in his hands. As he flicks through a few, he sees they are stained with mould, making entire sections completely illegible. He tosses the books back in the crate, dusting his hands off in disgust.

“They sent you mouldy trash,” he frowns, insulted on her behalf. Heat flares in his chest, outraged that they could treat Lani with such scorn and disrespect.

“Pierrot insisted we immediately send them back, with a strongly worded letter.” Solas scoffs lightly at her words, easily able to imagine the reaction of the crotchety Inquisition Archivist. "But I…” Lani trails off, unable to look him in the eye, “rather stubbornly insisted on looking through them. I would not give them the satisfaction of knowing their insult was felt.”

“Ah…” Solas remarks, understanding now why she was here alone, late at night and unable to meet his gaze. She was embarrassed that some smug Tevinter had goaded her into wasting her time on this.

“They are accounts of sale.” Her jaw is tight, as she grinds the words out; eyes flashing with renewed anger. “Deeds of ownership, ledgers from slave auctions,” her fingers drum agitatedly on the arm of her chair.

“I see,” Solas growls, more clearly understanding the true source of her fury. He could near set the crate on fire with the intensity of his glare.

“Their message is clear, the history of Elves is one of slavery and degradation.” Lani’s eyes mist and she blinks hurriedly to stop the errant tears. She tilts her chin up in proud defiance, as she takes a deep, steadying breath.

Pain lashes through Solas, as he watches her push down years of untold humiliation and shame. With terrible regret, his eyes follow the lines of the Vallaslin on her face, unable to tell her the truth of those offensive marks. That even in Elvhenan, there was slavery. These are things he cannot speak of, not unless he is willing to explain everything.

He wants to, so desperately. Yet every time he tries, he is overwhelmed by the thought of losing her. Afraid of her anger and rejection. It is foolish and irrational he knows. Whether he tells her the truth or not, he is bound to lose her eventually.

 _Soon_ , he always tells himself. _Someday soon… she deserves the truth. But not yet._

He reaches out to her, his thumbs gently brushing over her face and turning it toward him. He slides his hands back, to cradle the nape of her neck and he leans forward, laying a tender kiss against her mouth. Lani makes a small sound of surprise; he is not normally so restrained, so delicate with his touch. He wants her to understand though, how much he cherishes her. How worthy she is, of love and respect; no matter what an entire continent of humans might think. Her hands pluck at the front of his shirt, as his lips draw over her own, pulling them into his mouth and gently savouring them. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his words weighted with all that must remain unspoken. She moves her head, the slightest of shakes in his assuring grasp.

“It’s not your fault,” she protests and Solas is hard pressed to not fall at her feet, curl himself over her lap and confess all the ways in which it is.

 _Would she forgive me?_ Could she grant him the absolution he craves?

“Besides, it’s not all bad.” Lani hums a gleeful, little sing-song tune of victory. “Sometimes, it pays to be foolishly stubborn.” She reaches around Solas, for the book that lay open in the middle of the desk. He makes to move out of her way, but she places a hand on his hip, urging him to remain close. He settles back on the desk in front of her, as she skims one-handed through the pages. “I found this journal, that belonged to a slaver from around, seven-sixty Ancient, as best as I can place it. He wrote that, as the Empire expanded, he had to press further into the wilderness, in search of new slaves.” Solas cranes his neck to look down at the heavily stained tome. “It’s patchy, most of it illegible and my Tevene is not great besides, but what do you make of this?”

Solas watches her fingers edge across the page, silently mouthing the words as she translates them. He could easily read it himself, he is fluent in Tevene after all, but he lets her make the attempt. Despite what she thinks, he does not _always_ need to prove he is the smartest person in the room. Besides, he takes great joy in watching her strive to learn new things and the face she makes when she concentrates - eyes alight with clever intent, teeth often chewing one corner of her tender mouth - is so utterly endearing.

“‘South we drive,’” she reads aloud at length, “'this expedition has cost a fortune, though if we clash with the Alamarri savages, the extra muscle will be worth the cost.’” Another pause, as she translates the next passage.

“‘The ingrates threatened to abandon me, complaining of the strenuous passage through the unforgiving wilds. But today we found a place, a bastion, untouched by the living. Even if there be no slaves, untold treasures await us, I am sure. Tomorrow we will attempt to break the wards; they are unlike any magic I have ever seen.’” Lani slowly turns the page, eyes flicking up at him with barely contained delight.

“‘My men are surely dead, I barely escaped with my own life. They came upon us during the night, violent and relentless beasts. Their barbaric cries rent the very air. Taller than a man and possessing magic to rival the Archon, with weapons forged by no mortal hand. Unlike any elf I have ever seen, I can only imagine they consort with demons. Their eyes haunt me, their snarling, frightening visages. I am ruined, but at least I don’t have to pay those ingrates the remainder of their wages. Though perhaps, some brave fool would be willing to pay me for the location of these devils.’” Lani closes the journal, as a wry smile curls one side of her mouth.

“The Vir’Abelasan.” Solas cocks his head and Lani nods slowly.

“I believe so. That was the last entry. Whether he made it back to the Imperium safely, I don’t know, but his journal certainly did.” She pats the dusty old tome affectionately. “I can’t wait to write to the Head Archivist in Minrathous, to thank him for sending me such a treasure. I wish I could see his face, when he realises that over a thousand years ago, a Tevinter discovered the location of the Well of Sorrows. That _all_ its knowledge and power could have been theirs. It’s too delicious.” Lani’s smile is feral, as she chuckles wickedly. “Instead they let that knowledge moulder away for centuries, only to send it to me as a joke - an insult!”

“Vhenan!” Solas chuckles, her excitement infectious. “I had no idea you could be so vindictive.”

“How could you?” Lani blinks up at him coquettishly. “You’ve done nothing to irk me.”

“Ah, yes… of course,” he swallows anxiously. _Nothing yet,_ he muses with despair. A cold lump settles in the pit of his stomach, as he looks down at her, so pleased with herself. Her hand is idly kneading his hip and thigh, her giddy mood chasing away her usual reservation. He feels he is in very real danger now, as her eyes glimmer with a heated promise.

Though Lani was the one that had boldly initiated their first kiss in the Fade, she was more reserved in the waking world. Whether due to her own inexperience, or his initial reticence, he is not sure. Her hesitation has been a welcome relief, however. Sometimes, it is the only thing keeping him from letting their impassioned embraces go further than is prudent.

She rises from her chair, free hand bunching the loose fabric of his tunic at his waist. Her nose grazes over his, as she sidles closer; her hot, sweet breath caressing his skin. Her hand comes away from his hip and with a lazy wave, she extinguishes the candles. The library - the whole world - falls away in the dark and all that remains is Lani, warm and willing against him. It is silent, except for the soft, thready hush of their breathing. She moves slowly against him, teasing; wanting. He is grateful that she cannot see the desire and despair that grips him equally.

“Lani,” he hesitates, hands pressing lightly against her shoulders; a feeble attempt to hold her at bay.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s late, no-one is around,” she assures him; mistaking his reluctance for fear of discovery. As though she is not the one that ought to be terrified - of being alone in the dark, with a monster like him.

Her lips skim over his face, fluttering soft kisses along his cheek, to his temple and then down again to trace over his ear. He shouldn’t be allowing this; it isn’t right, or fair. The truth - his awful truth - it is going to break her heart. She is making delightful little sounds, as her mouth roams lower and each little mewl fans the heat that is growing in his core. Her kisses grow bolder, as she travels along his jaw and down his neck. The Fade is thrumming through and around her, tingling across his skin; almost lurid in its intensity. He wonders idly, if the variance in its potency correlates directly with the strength of her emotions.

“Vhenan?” She queries, sensing that he is not entirely present.

“Lani,” he repeats mournfully, her name a lamentation. A quiver runs through her at the pained sound and she begins to pull away. Immediately, he is seized with even greater regret and he catches her around the waist. She gasps in surprise, as he effortlessly hoists her up to straddle his lap. Her breath continues to catch in hurried little pants, as she settles her knees on the desk, on either side of him.

 _One more night_ , he decides, supporting her with one hand at her bottom. The other roams up, to tangle in the hair against her neck, pulling her against him. He mimics her earlier movements, though his own mouth is far more ravenous, as he burns a trail across her face and down her neck. _Let her have one more night of happiness_ , he tells himself; as though his own motivations aren’t selfish and cowardly.

“Solas,” she moans, as she melts against him. Eagerly surrendering, as she always does, to his demanding, implacable ardour.

 _Tomorrow_ , he vows, as his fingers greedily lay claim to her body; his mouth devouring hers. _Tomorrow, I will tell her everything. Tomorrow, I will set her free._


End file.
